Tag Archives: concert

I saw Chris Stapleton at Red Rocks last night. The sky was clear. The city lights twinkled at us from below the rocks. He played all four songs I know. And Peyton Manning joined him on stage to sing “Tennessee Whiskey.” Plus, he has the most creative intro of band members I’ve ever heard, which makes him really likable.

I just want to know why people feel the need to bug you if you sit down to listen to the music. Like you’re making them uncomfortable.

Christ Stapleton’s music is mellow. His low voice and the acoustics at Red Rocks are impressive. But seriously, I can only sway for so long.

And just to impress the stander-uppers – because if you don’t, they feel the need to nag you – why do you have to stay on your feet until midnight with thoughts of “my-back-aches, wow-that-guy-is-really-drunk, and please-play-faster-I-have-to-get-up-at-5am” running through your head?

Although it may not look it to the stander-uppers, it is way “cooler” to sit and appreciate the awesome guitar playing, listen to the story-telling that is country music, watch a hawk soar above the rocks, and identify the constellations on a crisp, cool night in May.

I am not a concert-goer. It is too loud, and crowds make me tense. Apparently, I have major sensory issues that no one ever told me about. I only learned about them when my son had the same.

But I REALLY wanted to go to your concert. You just performed in Denver, and the tickets were outrageously expensive. As a result, I may be the only woman between 40-50 in the city who was not there.

I was envious. I admit it. I have always wanted to see you perform. You are a master.

So when every mom at preschool drop-off, and my son’s teacher, and my friends all complained today that you did not come on stage until 10:45 p.m., I did a little mean happy dance.

I am so sorry!

And when they said that some of your new songs were really dark — even offensively violent — I practically twirled. I am not nice. Apparently, if I am not having fun, I want my friends to suffer.

Yet it made me sad. You are a tremendously talented woman with kids who apparently has no idea how the average mom lives. You are a mom. But you are not one of us. And we would welcome you with open arms. Maybe that is why your music is lost. Why you sing songs about killing all your boyfriends and have blood splattering across the big screen on stage. Really?

Madonna, honey, first of all, we don’t stay up past 10 o’clock for anything! These girls were tired when you showed up! The only chance you had was to play all of your old songs that we loved and danced to, those songs that we listened to when we were the 20-something chick we miss desperately in our current state of 40s motherhood. Don’t you have anyone telling you what it is like to be your fan? Who we are? What we need from you on the one night in 365 that we get out — and everyone I know did that for you!

Madonna, come back to Denver and do a concert for motherhood. Come on stage at 8:00. That gives us a chance to have our two glasses of wine before you come on, but we won’t be too tired to stand up stand for you, to dance, to cheer, to scream your name. We will go crazy for you at 8:00. Then sing your old songs, even if you think they are not as musically impressive as your new ones. We have babysitters, or have bribed our husbands into giving us a night on the town, so that we can feel young again, free again, wild again, sexy again. That is your gift if you choose to give it.

Your fans are moms. They are 40-something. You inspire them when you recognize that they are the ones filling the seats. Come back to Denver and do it again… for us this time.